Future of Men
by L.A.C.W
Summary: Spencer graduates the Abbey, to a completely different world. ONESHOT. A different take on the usual Abbey story.


Disclaimer :I don't own Beyblade.

Don't steal my ideas. Or you can and suffer the consequences.

**FUTURE OF MEN**

As a student of the Abbey, Spencer would Graduate from the Balkov Abbey for Boys when he passed A Level. What A level is, how it was formed, and why is not important for you to know . Just that when you graduate you officially leave the abbey, you are no longer entitled to stay there.

34 young men stood, in spit polished shoes , Olive Green uniforms with two red shoulder pads. The fabric of all their uniforms had been pressed washed and pressed again, for appearance was a thing to take pride in. The left and right foot of each boy was impeccably placed directly opposite to it's partner. Each shoulder was squared and pulled back, head held high.

At exactly 6:45 am Boris Balkov pushed open the heavy oak doors to his office.

With long confident strides he strode past them to the front of the group slowly taking in his little troupe of graduates. Like the men I taught them to be.

Spencer followed Boris in from the door with only his eyes . A skill harder said than done. For naturally you turned your head to look at an object. He had spent hours preparing for this event. Tailoring his generically sized outfit for himself, sewing was a invaluable skill. Most students rolled their eyes when they had to learn, and in the abbey a lesson not learned quickly, was a lesson quickly needed. He polished his shoes, just enough not to wear the leather . Given himself a fresh crew cu, and all other means possible to appear presentable. He wasn't the only one either to take these measures.

It took a while for Spencer to figure out why Boris looked so different, and he caught a few confused frown's from his fellow students when they figured it out. Boris had dressed up too, purple heart gleaming brightly shined and all. This came as a shock to him, Boris , BORIS of all people . It explained many things if he thought about it , but still what country was the uniform from Russia , America he couldn't place it.

Boris watched his students take in his slightly different than usual appearance. His past wasn't a well kept secret, just a never repeated one.

"Many a boys have walked these halls for years. And many a young men have stood in this room" He gestured to the warmly decorated room lined with trophies, and medals from previous years.

" From here you walk with knowledge and skill , Your destination is understanding. You all are outstanding students with abilities you have yet to even uncover", he let his eyes travel over the rows of students, each one intently glued on him.

"You were the boys who walked these halls a long time ago , you are all young men, well most" he chuckled. A couple of the boys grinned at the smaller ones.

" Some of you I foresee greatness worthy of history. He paused in his speech to quote " Some men are born Great , Some seek greatness and some have it thrust upon them." "This is true in many respects" Boris continued. " You will all become great I have no doubt in that . You see standing beside you, each of you . Next great leaders of the world. Give yourself a pat on the back Gentlemen . You ..." Boris paused mid speech.

Spencer's eyes shot back to Boris, from where they had been lingering on back wall. He looked wrong , all of a sudden his teacher for years and years seemed wrong. His face was red, Then it hit Spencer like a load of bricks, he was had tears in the corner of his eyes , YES ! and they were slightly swollen. Unbelievable he Boris Balkov was crying.

" You have graduated from Balkov Abbey for Boys , Congratulations , The world is yours for the taking, do great things." And then there was silence...

No one knew what to do, least of all Spencer . When Boris gave a hoarse dismissed order, they began to march out in their specific order. Spencer was last out he took a minute to glance back at Boris, who was watching him hover there. "Spencer ?"

"Nothing Sir"

"Move along then"

Spencer quickly retreated from the chamber shutting the large doors behind him. The other students stood their waiting for him. Is he all right a blonde student inquired his name was Alex. Spencer recalled the red puffy eyes lingering on his back when he walked out. Yeah He'll be all right, I suppose."

A uncomfortable silence settled down on the group. They looked every where but each other. As a group they were feeling uncomfortable, as individuals they were different, Yet they were all feeling the same thing .

Spencer picked up his bag from the ground.

"See you all around", Spencer walked down the old hallway. To the old stairs that lead to outside. He could feel, every single lingering glance at him. After all, a class doesn't graduate every year.

He waved to the old secretary in the main lobby. The double doors were affectionately named Peters gate. He pushed the right one open, readjusted the duffel bag over his shoulder.

Spencer slowly stepped down the Abbey steps to the old court yard. When did that thing get here, it's so old. Spencer jogged over to ivy covered statue.

It looked like oxidised copper. With careful hands he felt the ivy covering the mass. It broke apart easily it was old, and smelled musty. The part of the statue revealed looked like a human foot. Now intrigued He began pulling the coverings off the statue, he was getting green dirt all over his hands and pants. When he stood back to get a look at the statue,

There it stood, four men, immortalised in metal.

A Asian,. His ethnicity marked by his telltale eyes. He was holding a Dragoon Sniper Rifle, pointed forward ready for action.

The face of an Russian, was evident in the man holding a flag pole.

A young Jamaican man, was kneeling behind a old portable display of some sort. He was wearing a headset and yelling into the mike.

The man in front had a Canadian uniform on. He was crouched, close to the ground, a tube like launcher slung over his back, rising high above him.

They were grouped close together. Around the bare flag pole. The faces though, each were determined, focused almost to the point of pain in each of them.

He wanted to ask the statue who they were. But it silly to ask a piece of metal, that has obviously been standing here for ages a question. And what about the flag pole, what was on the flag, was there ever a flag.

This monument begged emotion of him, what was it trying to convey. Heroism, courage, unity, determination, suffering? all at once?

The Canadian's hand was pointing over Spencer's head, away from the abbey to the street. right to the gate to the outside. He felt over whelmed by the statue, he just couldn't get passed the feeling.

He picked up his bag from the ground dusting off the dust from the ground. Dust on the ground?, what the fuck is this, and it's on the top of his bag. Dusting off Spencer looked around the yard looking for anything odd.

The gate was a old style 2 feet of solid steel, air locks in the middle. When this thing shut it became a solid steel wall. Spencer ran his hand up and down the locks , they were broken.

_Buzzzzzz...welcome to...bov...bey...Buzzzzzzzzzzzz_

A audio grate was spewing a pre-recorded speech. But it was broken.

_...Who...re...h...re...you?_

Spencer stared at the grate, "Are you talking to me?"

_"es.who.re..you?" _

"Spencer"

_"wh..are...u...ere..Spencer"_

"who are you?"

_"why are you here Spencer, why are you still alive"._ The grates voice was becoming clearer.

"alive?"

He stared flabbergasted at the grate "what are you talking about"

_"The war Spencer, those who come from here fight and die... or at least they never return to me Spencer please come back to me, I get so lonely..."_

"Are you person or a program?"

_"Are you a person Spencer or one of them?"_

"them?"

The grate must have shorted out because it didn't answer. That was creepy, must have been a faulty program.

Spencer looked outside the gate. A rolling hill blocked his view, Spencer pulled his bag back up, and jogged up the hill. He tripped a few times on the slippery grass, As he reached the top the morning sun blinded him momentarily before he shielded his eyes with his hand. He understood everything, training at the Abbey, the statue, The grate. Moscow should have been over this hill, and it was only it was flat.

There hadn't been anymore world wars, Not after the 'things' arrived, the war that followed united humans, into a well oiled machine, of destruction. At least that's what happened in the game they played in the Abbey. The 'fiction' they had to read was actually real. They were trained for the future war, kept away to reinforce humanity when needed. Which means...we're needed now.

He heard a low humming noise, a hover craft was coming over the rubble of the city. He carefully slid down the wet hill reaching the bottom of the hill, at the same time of the craft. Raising his hand, to single the hovercraft. which changed direction to him.

That statue, now I understand.

The question is how we skipped 500 years in the future without knowing it. Boris you sly dog.

------------

Boris idly spun his chair in circles. Watching Spencer climb into the Hovercarft, shake hands with the men. And ride off into the sunrise. Boris dragged his mouse lazily to the rewind button, and watched it again and again.

The fourth time he caught what he was looking for, Spencer raised his hand ever so slightly, at the Abbey as he was whisked away. That was all Boris needed to see. He waved the cursor over the delete button.But left the cursor over it.

"Computer?" he addressed the air. "Where are Kai, Tala, Bryan and Ian?"

"_All four persons are in the simulator, sir"_ The husky female voice answered.

"Patch me through as a video feed to all four."

"_Please wait a minute sir"_

Boris faced the camera, knowing all four boys would see him at once.

"Boris?" That would Ian, wondering what the hell is going on.

"Would you boys come to my office _immediately_" Boris breathed out heavily. "There's some thing I need to tell you four about."

**THE END**

You can't say civilization isn't advancing: in every war they kill you in a new way. - Will Rogers


End file.
